


i won't deny (all the things i would do)

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 23
Kudos: 191





	i won't deny (all the things i would do)

**Author's Note:**

> A very quick and very dirty fic I never actually intended to write. That seems to be happening a lot lately. Inspired by an otp ask on tumblr. I guess this is a mosaic au where they start hooking up well before their one year anniversary.

Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

It wasn't that Quentin hadn’t been attracted to him before all this began. No, it wasn’t that at all. He’d wanted Eliot since the day they’d met if he were being honest. But generally speaking, out in the real world, shoving those thoughts aside had been easy. Or, well, certainly easier, with the fate of all magic resting on their shoulders. But here at the mosaic, with little else to do but sweat and curse and sigh and sketch out another useless pattern, that little wanting voice in the back of Quentin’s skull was getting harder to ignore.

It had been three months, give or take a week or two. Every day of it spent watching Eliot’s elegant fingers passing tiles and gripping chalk. The feeling of them on Quentin’s shoulder, the back of his neck, on those rare occasions they actually touched. And Eliot’s legs, so goddamn ridiculously long. His shoulders broad, his lean muscles so delicate yet strong. Quentin liked to imagine being pinned under all that muscle, that lithe body, in the dead and quiet of the night. Or in the middle of the day, right there on the mosaic. His legs locked at the small of Eliot’s back as they rutted together. Panting, pressing their hot mouths to each other’s sweat-slick skin.

Quentin could almost feel the weight of him, and the heat. Being overwhelmed by the press of Eliot’s body. All those things that Eliot’s body might do to Quentin’s. With his mouth, and his hands, and his—

“Hey,” Eliot said, sitting back on his heels with a sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking tired of staring at this thing.”

Quentin tossed aside the notebook he’d been gripping in his hands, a blush creeping over his cheeks that he could easily blame on the sun. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Eliot collapsed onto his back and stretched his legs out long, a grin tugging at his pretty mouth. “How about you tell me a story instead?”

Quentin swallowed. “Okay,” he said, his brows knitting together as he mirrored Eliot’s position, stretching out next to him on the tiles. “What, um… what kind of story do you want?”

Eliot hummed. “Maybe one where the main characters solve this befucked puzzle, get their carnival prize, go home, get laid. Happily-ever-fucking-after.”

Quentin’s pulse picked up, racing like a goddamn freight train in his throat. Maybe the sun was making him delirious, but his tongue suddenly felt happy and loose, and he decided, fuck it. If shit turned awkward after this, they could always just never look at each other or speak ever again.

“You know, um…” Quentin laughed, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt just to give his hands something to do. “You don’t have to go home to get laid.”

In the corner of his eye, Quentin could see Eliot’s face slowly turning. “Is that so?” he said after a long moment of silence.

Quentin clenched his hands into fists, clenched his jaw. Fighting against the urge to lose his nerve and run away. “Yeah, um…” He turned to meet Eliot’s gave head-on. “If you… if you wanted to, um…”

Eliot smirked. “Have sex with you?”

Quentin’s blush deepened, and he had to look away. “Yeah, uh… yeah. That.”

Eliot made a happy sound. “You’re blushing, Coldwater.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, unable to stop the smile taking over his face. “Shut up.”

Eliot fully turned on his side, pillowing his hands under his face. “Tell me,” he said, his voice falling low. “Tell me that story.”

Feeling suddenly foolish, Quentin shot him a hard look. “You don’t have to make fun of me, you know. I was just—never mind. It’s stupid.”

Eliot’s expression softened, his smile and his eyes. “Oh, Q. I’m… I’m not doing that. I’m…” He reached out a hand, curving it over the muscle of Quentin’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”

Quentin took a breath. “You have?”

“Mhmm.” Eliot pulled his hand away. “You want me to go first? Tell you a little bedtime story.”

Quentin nodded, slowly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out all air. “Okay…”

Eliot moved a little nearer. Almost—but not quite—close enough for their bodies to touch. This close, Quentin could see that Eliot was blushing now. Maybe it was the heat of the day. Maybe. But Quentin thought, deep down, he could feel the stirring in his blood. 

Eliot smirked and said, “Once upon a time, there lived a High King who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off his best friend’s ass, as they toiled away under the unforgiving sun that lit his kingdom.”

“I don’t think you’re technically High King if we’re in the past,” Quentin said, laughing at himself, maybe just a little desperate to take some of the edge off.

“Semantics,” Eliot said with a contented sigh. “My point is, Q… you’re terribly distracting.”

Quentin swallowed. “Am I?”

Eliot nodded. “Your ass, your mouth. God, your mouth…” He laughed. “I can’t remember much from our one and only night together, Q, but I remember the things that mouth can do.”

Quentin shuddered, turning his face away. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Eliot reached out again, this time touching Quentin’s chest, his palm pressing right up against Quentin’s beating heart. “I think about it at night, getting you on your knees. Right here on the mosaic.”

_Fuck._ Sun-drunk and hazy with arousal, Quentin shut his eyes, breathed in deep, pushed it out. “I think about that too,” he said, and then settled his eyes on Eliot again.

Eliot’s expression shifted, halfway between a smile and a snarl. “Sucking my dick?” he said very quietly, moving his hand a little, tracing the jut of Quentin’s collarbone through his shirt.

Quentin nodded. “Yeah. And… your body. On top of mine…”

Eliot shifted a little closer, his hand moving up to curl around the curve of Quentin’s neck. “You want me to fuck you?”

Quentin’s pulse skipped under Eliot’s touch. “Yeah. I do.”

Eliot’s eyes flicked down the expanse of Quentin’s body. “I can see how hard you are thinking about it, hm?”

“Jesus,” Quentin huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. “El…”

Eliot shushed him. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby. I’m hard too. You know how worked up I get just looking at you?”

“El,” Quentin whined. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Eliot moved even closer, all but draping himself over Quentin’s body, pressing lips to his ear. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he muttered, and Quentin could feel the smile forming on his mouth. “You really want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“El.”

Eliot’s hand had begun tracking down Quentin’s torso. His chest, the curve of his ribcage, his fluttering belly. His lips grazed over Quentin’s ear, his breath coming hot and quick. “Tell me,” he said. “Baby. Tell me…”

His hand stopped at the fly of Quentin’s jeans. Quentin’s breath stuttered out of him. He said, “I want you to fuck me,” his voice some pitiful thing, shrinking under the promise of Eliot’s body, his hands. “I want you to…”

Eliot hummed, nuzzling into the side of Quentin’s neck. “I want that too,” he said, and then his deft fingers popped open Quentin’s waistband. “I want you…” He kissed Quentin’s neck, softly. “You want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” Quentin pushed out, desire clawing up the dip of his spine, the back of his neck, squeezing at his throat like a lover’s hand. “Please.”

Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin’s jaw. “How about you show me,” he purred, groping at the front of Quentin’s jeans, barely the ghost of his touch. “Show me how you want me to touch you.”

A little whimper clawed out of Quentin’s throat. Slowly, Eliot unzipped the fly of Quentin’s jeans, pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his temple. “Get these off,” he whispered.

By some miracle, Quentin got his body working long enough to lift his hips, and shove at the waistband of his pants and underwear with two shaking hands. With Eliot’s help, he got them down around his thighs. And Eliot pulled back just a little, leaving Quentin exposed in the summer sun, making him shiver in spite of the heat.

“Don’t go,” Quentin breathed.

“I’m right here,” Eliot promised, his fingers trailing down Quentin’s cheek. “Just wanna see you. Go on, baby. Touch yourself for me.”

Quentin squeezed his eyes shut. “Talk to me,” he said, wrapping a hand around his dick and giving it a stroke. “El. Please…”

“God, you’re pretty,” Eliot said. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

“I don’t think so,” Quentin said, and then laughed.

“Well, you are. Jesus, Q, I wish you could see yourself right now.” Eliot’s hand curled around his throat, gently, then down to his chest, teasing over his nipples. “That’s it. Nice and slow. Are you thinking about it, hm? What it’s going to feel like when I get you on your knees and put that mouth to work?”

Quentin bucked his hips, once, hard, fucking up into his fist. “Yeah. God…” There behind his eyes, he could almost see it. Stirring up the faded memory of their single night together, he could feel it. The thick push of it between his parted lips, gliding over his tongue, down into his throat. 

And then suddenly, in a rush of glorious heat, Eliot pushed Quentin’s hand away, replaced it with his own. He pressed his face into the crook of Quentin’s neck. “I’m gonna fuck that pretty mouth,” he said, voice ruined, his breath coming very quickly now, his whole body curving around Quentin’s side as he sped up the pace of his strokes. “And then I’m gonna spread you open on the mosaic, baby. Right here. And I’m gonna sink into you so deep…”

Eliot sucked a kiss into the join of Quentin’s neck and shoulder, and the world swirling behind Quentin’s eyes bloomed with color and light. Eliot’s clever hand worked him quicker, pulling him right up to the edge, and when Quentin cried out Eliot pulled his hand away. “No, don’t,” Quentin breathed, canting his hips and chasing the contact. “Eliot. Don’t…”

“It’s okay, shhh,” Eliot kissed Quentin’s burning cheek, teasing two fingers along the underside of his throbbing dick. “Just wanna make it last.”

“Oh, you’re the fucking worst,” Quentin laughed, opening his eyes to see Eliot grinning down at him. “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh, Q,” Eliot purred, nuzzling into his cheek, his hand slowly going back to Quentin’s length. “But you’re so much fun to tease.”

Eliot stroked him once, and again, Quentin sobbed, Eliot pulled his hand away. He kissed Quentin’s mouth, softly, stroked him again, up and back down. Slowly, slowly, the glide of it slick and easy with how much he was making Quentin leak. He pulled away, teasing his fingers along Quentin’s shaft again, laughing softly as he went.

“Please,” Quentin said, the word swallowed up by a desperate little moan. “Please. I’m so close…”

“You’re even prettier when you beg, you know that?” Eliot gave him his hand again, working him closer and closer with clever little movements of his wrist. “Think I’ll make you beg for my dick, pretty boy. What do you think about that?”

One more stroke. That was all it took. Quentin sobbed, his hips stuttering as he spurted all over Eliot’s hand. Reality melted into a rush of blood in Quentin’s ears, and pleasure so bone-deep he thought he might never recover. Eliot sealed his mouth over the point of Quentin’s pulse at his throat, working Quentin’s dick until he started to go soft. And as Quentin was coming down, Eliot was sobbing into his neck, his own hips twitching as he came right there in his pants.

“El. Oh my god…” Quentin laughed, tossing an arm over his eyes. “Fuck…”

“Yeah.” Eliot’s body began to still. “I, um… wow. Fuck, I needed that.”

“Me too,” Quentin breathed. “You’re amazing, Eliot, jesus.”

Eliot smiled against Quentin’s neck. “Yeah I am,” he said with a little laugh. “Not too shabby yourself, Coldwater.”

“I think we got jizz on the puzzle,” Quentin said after they’d parted. Eliot was muttering a clean-up spell on his hands.

“Maybe that’s the secret,” Eliot said with a dopey little grin. “The beauty of all life.”

Quentin laughed, shimmying his pants back up over his hips. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe it is.”

"Don't go too far," Eliot said, buttoning his pants with a smirk. "I made you a promise, Q. And I intend to keep it."


End file.
